


The Mando'ad : A Star Wars Story

by LadyElebreth



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyElebreth/pseuds/LadyElebreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tatooine

**Author's Note:**

> You guys didn't think Marvel was my only fandom, did you ;D?  
> This is based off an idea for a Star Wars story that I got about five years ago, but I abandoned it. Then, of course, I saw "The Force Awakens." And, go figure, I couldn't help myself. Funny how that turns out.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowing through all, there is balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a concept that's been floating around in my head for at least six years; I may or may not finish it, but it still has a special place in my heart :3

Life happens. So does death. Wars are fought, and sometimes they aren't won. And when they aren't won, there are casualties. Soldiers, their superiors, civilians, innocents.

Regimes fall, and empires rise. But there are things that war, evil, and time just don't touch.

There are some things that will never change, even when everything else does.

Tatooine is a testament to that. It always has been, and always will be, just an endless expanse of beige; inhospitable desert, canyons, mountains, and mile after mile of sand. For thousands of years, it's hung in the eternal night of space; a giant blotched orb of orange and dark purple. Its inhabitants are just as I remembered them: tough and resilient as ever, just like the hopelessly rocky landscape.

The sand from the streets still gets into our boots, hair, clothes, and eyes. The moisture farmers still do what they do best—tend to their vaporators, sell water, and do what they can to hold it together until harvest every year.

The cities and cantinas are still full of more aliens and their songs than humans and their gossip.

Bounty hunters, spice merchants, the occasional supply ship, and countless smugglers still make their stopovers in Mos Eisley or Mos Espa to do business; still bring rumors and sometimes truthful news about what's happening in the rest of the universe.

I know how it all works. I should; I've been watching it happen for long enough. Sometimes, I think, for too long. Almost as long as I've been alone. And I've been alone for a long time.

 

* * *

 

 

My palm closed around another cluster of fungi and, without meaning to, I bruised it as I tore it from the base of the vaporator.

" _Haar'chak_ ," I muttered, turning the piece over. I decided it didn't look too terribly bad. Exhaling, I placed it into the basket by my knees. A series of beeps caught my attention and I turned around.

"Your scanners picking up something, Lucee?"

My little astro droid made her way to me on her tripod legs, making long treads in the sand behind her. She made it clear that no, nothing was on her scanners; she just wanted to get indoors.

"I'm almost finished here," I promised. "Just watch my back, okay?"

LU-C2 exclaimed, and I put down the scraper in my hand so I could face her. "Hey, nothing's going to get you," I told her, smiling in spite of myself. "Jawas don't have the nerve to go after a droid when someone's right next to it."

She ventured to ask something else of me, and I nodded. "Yes, I'll clean the sand out of your gears when we get home."

LU-C2 was satisfied. She whistled quietly to herself, staying beside me.

We'd been out there for some time, yet there was just now enough light to see by—far, far ahead, in the east, the suns were just beginning to rise. Orange, hazy, and glowing on the horizon.

I got back to the task at hand and reached further up on the vaporator to pull off a few of the smaller fungi. Even though I paid the Wiy family four wupiupi per cluster, and they often paid me just to retrieve the precious treat for them, they still thought I was crazy to do this while it was still so dark outside.

I knew well enough why it was dangerous—every inhabitant from Anchorhead to Mos Eisley knows that the Tuskens are always roaming the desert, but even moreso when it's dark; both at night and in the early morning hours before dawn.

Most of the time, they'll simply stove a farmer's head in, dismantle one or more vaporators, and sell the parts for scrap.

They're heartless, and they don't care who they hurt. Or kill.

But I know how to deal with them. Those animals don't rule my life–this planet is poverty-stricken enough, and to me, the chance to get real food is worth the risk.

Tatooine still has little to no locally grown produce that's not dry or hopelessly tough—yet at night, when the desert gets cold and the moisture vaporators are at their best, the farmers get something some of the other locals don't: fresh mushrooms.

Ord Cestus has the better ones in my opinion, but since Ord Cestus is kinda out of my reach, I content myself with what this ball of dust has to offer. The Wiys do the same. But I know they still think something is wrong with me.

I'm not as crazy as some of the punks that live out in Mos Eisley; but in then again, I do live out in the Jundland Wastes with only an astromech.

The natives say that not only do the Sandpeople like to pass through the Wastes, but that you can burn your eyes out, if you look at the flats out there long enough.

Well, I've been looking at them for twenty years.

My eyes are reasonably okay. But the rest of me?

Wearily, I drew the back of my hand across my eyes and sat back on my feet for a moment. 

Honestly, I wasn't really so sure about the rest of me.

As I knelt there, a familiar, soft sound was intertwined with the humid morning winds.

Stopping again, I looked ahead, to the right, and to the left. The winds were coming from the west, but the sound it carried seemed to be coming from farther away...much farther.

"Lucee, did you hear that?"

As her single photoreceptor lit up, the purple and silver head it was housed in swiveled this way and that. No, she couldn't hear anything.

As far as I could see, there was nothing, save the blinking lights that appeared on the distant vaporators.

Garn Wiy's words from years ago came back to me, on that day when we were standing in his doorway and looking out over the endless yards of sand. That had been the day when I'd made him an offer: I would go get the mushrooms from their vaporators every morning, and pay them if they were willing to sell me any.

No risk on their part was necessary; if they wanted, they wouldn't have to even know I was there. He'd only laughed at first, but then he'd realized I was serious.

 _You gotta screw loose somewhere in that pretty head of yours, Dha?_ he'd asked, folding his arms over his rotund middle. _It's not that I can't afford to do that, but you know what could happen._

I remembered how odd it sounded to be called Dha again.

It wasn't my real name, of course.

But I didn't let an alias I couldn't help bother me.

That day, I had merely assured the farmer that it was very likely I had a screw loose, hence the reason Tuskens didn't bother me. I was probably crazier than they were.

Garn had just laughed, biting his thumbnail as he shrugged. _Good way to get your head kicked in by one of those kriffin' Tuskens, if you ask me. But it's your head, kid. Pick as many of those things as you want._

Since that day, I've been doing my present task three mornings a week, every week. For more months than I care to remember. And I've yet to have a single incident.

Garn's grown to a ripe old age, and his sons have started taking over but he's still around. I pass the farm boundaries every day on my way to Mos Espa, and I always—subconsciously, perhaps—keep a pair of scanners to my eyes.

Perhaps it's because I keep expecting to see someone else besides the Wiys out on the land.

Someone familiar.

I was finished now with picking from this vaporator—six clusters in all, which yielded about twelve mushrooms.

Standing with the basket at my side, I brushed the damp sand from my knees and shouldered my blaster rifle once again.

With a sigh, I began to make my way towards the Wiy homestead. The sand was starting to warm up already—I could feel it through the soles of my boots.

_It's never a good thing when the ground starts heating up, eh, General?_

There were no other people out there but me; I still smiled at nobody. "No, trooper. It's not."

Lucee beeped, wondering who I was talking to. I patted her domed head and sighed. "No one, honey. No one."

She took me at my word and kept rolling steadily forward.

I may have convinced her that there was nothing there. But I couldn't convince myself.


	2. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no passion, there is serenity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, another post. Finally.

  
_In another time, another place in the galaxy, the ground was starting to heat up—and, to my annoyance, it had also begun to move a little._

_The Clone Wars had been raging for nearly six months at this point.  
I was leading a batallion out in the Outer Rim, on a Separatist-occupied world. It was my first field assignment without my Master. And at the time, it looked like it might've been the last, too._

_Our current position was underground, in a bunker—it wasn't the roomiest one I or the hundred something men with me had ever been in, either._

_The droid army opposite had several cannons, which meant energy bolts were punching holes in the ground near our position. The impact above sent dirt showering down our heads every few seconds._

_The legion under my command consisted of the Beta Squad and almost a thousand other clones; several of whom, despite my best efforts to protect them, were now dead or presently dying._

_Forty men had accompanied me to a rendevous point that we'd never been able to meet—commando droids had ambushed us, and the rest of their amped-up friends tried to finish us off before our gunship arrived. When it did arrive, it and everyone on it was promptly blown out of the sky._

_I'd managed to get the wounded and whoever was still standing back to our encampment, but had still lost at least thirty clones all told, maybe more._

_And by my reckoning, we were still on the front; too far away to be reached by our medical evac and too close to the enemy tech scramblers for any of our communications to work properly._

_The situation had escalated from unpleasant to dire and now, it wasn't a matter of fighting. It was a matter of living to see the next day._

_All of the medics I had with me were pulling double to care for their brothers; to try and, despite the circumstances, make those with injuries as comfortable as possible._

_And the ones my counted on to always get our communication signals up and running again were, by their own standards, barely even making progress._

_We were all on edge, all running on adrenaline; all more than a little scared. I was utterly terrified that I was going to go down as a newbie who had led her whole batallion to their demise.  
But I was determined not to show it, come haran or high water._

_"Miss!" Dalso shouted, making his way to me, "we've almost got a signal!"_

_Finally, some good news._

_"Good job, boys," I shouted back. "Now, patch it through on the first frequency you find ; we've got to get some backup!"_

_"Yes, ma'am!"_

_At that moment, I was kneeling in a packed corner along with one of the medical officers, Rou. He was tending to another man, but Loch helped me with one of their injured counterparts._

_And this clone looked bad.  
One of the scouts had found him as we were retreating, and had automatically assumed he was dead. But I'd managed to find a heartbeat._

_Most of his chest armor was missing or burned, as was the armor on his legs. And, as was often the case, I could smell him bleeding out before I saw it._

_"What all have we got, Loch?"  
Carefully, I laid the unconscious clone's head in my lap, pulling off his helmet as Loch opened a med kit. "Hopefully something he'll survive," he answered, holding the anesthetic out to me. "Blaster fire. Hit him right in the chest and his gut. Then one of those kriffin' clankers tried to take out his legs."_

_"How are his ribs?" I began to undo the clasps that held the poor man's chestplate in place and bit back a gasp at the awful sight of his torso._

_Swiftly, I pressed the injector's handle and head together, then set the bacta capsule into the syringe chamber. Gently, I turned his face aside so that I could reach his bare neck. "Awful sorry 'bout this, mate," I said through my teeth as I drove the injector point home._

_The result was instantaneous—the clone jolted and gasped, choking. One of Jango Fett's brown eyes looked up at me, his expression dazed and bruised. There was a deep, bleeding gash where his left eye should've been. In the dimness, I couldn't tell if the eye was still there.  
As carefully as I could, I began to wipe the blood from his forehead and nose. "Easy, trooper," I whispered, "you're still with us. Eyes on me, okay? Eyes on me."_

_His breath slowed a little, then he seemed to finally see me._  
_"What . . . the haran happened . . . "  
I had to lean down to catch the words, but I felt myself smile, nonetheless. "You're safe now. We're back in the bunker."_

_The insignia painted on his headgear wasn't ringing any bells, so I knew I hadn't met him before. I guessed was one of the three hundred new troopers that had been assigned to my command within the last year, then._

_His eyes had started to close again, but I quickly snapped my fingers by his ear to keep him from drifting off.  
"Hey, hey—no, come on. Give me your name and number, trooper," I said loudly as his eyes slowly open again. "I know you've had a rough go of it, but can't let you sleep right now, not until we've stabilized you."_

_In spite of all his injuries, he smiled up at me through bloody lips._

Something made me jolt.

The noise of battle, the scent of the bleeding trooper and all of his identical brothers around me faded, far more quickly than I'd expected them to.

Before my eyes, I saw nothing but the sand flats, and in the distance were dunes. But...no, I couldn't be in the desert again.

Yet I was.  
Beside me was Lucee, quietly beeping an inquiry. And all that was in front of me was Garn Wiy's weathered features, and his concerned eyes.  
"Did you hear what I said, girl?"

I blinked, gazing down at the coins Garn had just put into my hand. My mouth felt as if it were packed with the medic gauze I'd hallucinated seconds earlier.  
With effort, I exhaled and smiled. "Yeah...yeah, I heard you. Sorry."

Of course, I'd just lied through my teeth. I couldn't repeat what he'd just said if my life had depended on it. It was funny to actually know what that feeling was again, after so many years.

But Garn's no idiot.

He has four half-grown sons; most of the stuff he's said has gone over their heads at some point. All parents know the look of confusion when that happens.  
And all parents know the difference between a disturbed child and an indifferent one.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I said, you should get yourself a supply of bactade to carry on ya when you go to Anchorhead. You'll get dehydrated out there."  
He was amused now, but still looking at me like he thought I was nuts.

With that in mind, I managed another smile. "Okay. Sure. I can do that. See ya."

He wasn't satisfied and I knew it.  
"You doin' okay way out there? Those flats past Jundland Wastes aren't ideal real estate."

I shrugged. "Suits me just fine." I began to turn away, really hoping he'd leave it at that. But he didn't.

"You're all alone out there."

I didn't think I'd stop—but my left foot slowly imprinted the sand and stayed there.

He was absolutely right.  
So he thought.

I leaned my head back and briefly looked at the sky before I looked back at him.  
Like most of the people around there, I could read Garn like a year-one holobook.  
He had been born here, raised here, and he would most likely die here. And just like all the others, if the suns didn't get him, then something else would.

He didn't need my problems. 

_He has enough of his own._

"Bye, Garn," I said simply.  
In one motion, I deposited the wuipiupi in the folds of my cloak, turned, and started walking.  
"C'mon, Lucee," I beckoned and the droid began to roll after me.

I didn't turn around, but I knew that old farmer watched me and LU-C2 until we were well out of his sight. And all I could hear was one pitying, inaudible remark—it was paternal instinct that made him think it, but it was something I could've gone the rest of my life without hearing:

_Poor kid._


	3. Corellia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man...took me long enough.

All it took was a name. Just a name, and everything in the cantina went straight to hell. 

The shooting started before Poe could even close his mouth. Blasters came out and plasma bolts flew across the dining area from the bar and scored the wall behind him. 

With no other option, the pilot dove behind a table someone else had just been drinking and tried to keep out of sight.

"Take it outside," the bartender bellowed, ducking down behind the counter a few yards away from Poe. "TAKE IT OUTSIDE!!"

Some people did the smart thing and ran for it; others did pretty much the same thing Poe had just done and swore the whole way down.

As fast as he could, Poe loaded a cartridge into his Glie-44.There were quite a few of them going off now, and he would need cover if he wanted to get out of the building in one piece.

In his line of work, it was part of the job description to shake hands with death every alternate Primeday. But hiding in a corner behind a sticky table with his trousers soaked in a very flammable vintage was not how he had planned to die.

Tentatively, Poe raised his head over the edge of the table. "So, I'll take that as a 'no,' guys ?"

He ducked right as three more shots pinged off the table top and marred the opposite wall.

Poe rolled his eyes. "Kriffin' Trandoshans," he muttered. He flipped the safety off on his blaster and aimed at one of the scaly freaks across the room. Two shots and a second later, there was a thud. Another shot, another thud.

Out of nowhere, a series of familiar, frantic beeps filtered through the smoke.

Poe whirled around. A little orange and white BB unit—his BB unit—whirled around right in the center of the fight. The little droid emitted whistles so sharp they might have been screams as he dodged lethal shots. One hit in the right place, he would be nothing more than a smoking shell and a fond memory.He dodged another shot.

Poe was suddenly aware that he could feel his blood pressure spike. 

"BeeBee," he yelled as loud as he could over the noise, "get your can over here, right now pal!!"

Thankfully, the droid heard him and practically bounced over. Poe covered with as many shots as he could until BB-8 rolled up beside him and got behind the table.

"Okay, good, we're good," Poe told the little droid, still firing. "I think we can cross off the Corellian system now, how 'bout you?" BB-8 rolled forward and tipped the dome that was his head down, as if to nod.

There was suddenly a new sound—a soft, ominous whirring that wasn't part of a droid's gyrodrivers. Poe looked to the floor in time to glimpse the small, blinking metal ball rolling across the floor..

In the space of less than a second, a certain four-lettered word came to his mind.

Explosives were not Poe's line of expertise, but he knew a thermal detonator when he saw one.

"Detonator!" He shouted at the top of his voice. "Everybody get out!!!"

The cantina was less crowded than when the shootout had begun; all of the customers that were left ran for any exit they could reach, but the Trandoshans kept shooting in his general direction.

Poe knew he and his droid were definitely trapped.

This is bad, this is bad, this is bad . . . 

Exhaling, Poe knew that what he was planning to do next was extremely stupid.

But the way he figured it, he was already lying down more than sitting on a gross cantina floor; his trousers were soaked in whiskey, he was being shot at and in danger of being blown up.

The situation could not have possibly gotten worse.

Poe kicked BB-8 ahead of him with one foot, kicked the table aside with the other, and lit out for the main entrance, firing all the way out.

He really didn't care if he got shot; a blaster burn would be like a paper cut compared to what the detonator would do. And even a Trandoshan's thick hide wouldn't save them from something like that.

BB-8 and his master landed rather ungracefully out in the busy street just as the cantina lost its ceiling and two of its walls. Broken glass, parts of the building, and chunks of the metal support was flung through the air; the pedestrians in the street shouted expletives and screamed as they got out of the way of the debris. 

Dust clouded the young pilot's eyes and he coughed, trying to get to his feet.

His ribs burned from the impact of landing on the ground. Beside him, BB-8 beeped in a shaken, nigh-traumatized manner as he attempted to roll over. Poe exhaled gratefully. 

Well, at least they were both still alive.

"C'mon, buddy," he helped BB-8 turn himself upright and carefully stood up."We're not outta the woods yet." The words had hardly left his mouth when a blaster report rang through the street.

BB-8 shrieked and not sure of what else to do, Poe ducked to the ground next to his droid once more as the throng around him ran for cover.

The Trandoshans had apparently bailed out of the cantina before it had blown up.

As BB-8 rolled for his life beside his master, Poe hit the ground running and swearing at the top of his exhausted lungs. Sometimes he really,really hated being right.

There were pedestrians—civilians—everywhere, more than than he had seen a couple of hours ago when he'd first come this way. Most likely, they had come to investigate the sound of the explosion. Nonetheless, they immediately parted and ran for cover when they saw the furious, huge reptilian bipeds that were chasing the brown-eyed pilot.

More plasma bolts of primary colors streamed past his head and out of his line of sight.

One punched a burning hole into the dirt where his footprint had just been.

Alright, Poe thought, that was way too close for comfort.

He craned his neck back, extended his arm, and once again fired his blaster several times at his tenacious assailants. Without slowing down, he felled four.

Running away from a fight wasn't something Poe was used to doing, and considering his present assignment, he really preferred not to. But he was very outnumbered. And almost out of firepower.

Ducking into an alley, Poe dodged several bins and piles of trash before stumbling over to an outer wall. He leaned against it, trying to catch his breath. BB-8 rolled to an abrupt stop and expressed his concern. "No, no, I'm good, " Poe began, breathing hard. "I'm good, I think we lost 'em. Just—just go on ahead to the hangar and fire up. We're done here."

BB-8 rolled down the alley as fast as he could.

As soon as he coul, Poe willed the stitch in his side to go away and followed suit.

This time, he didn't bother to look back. There was nothing else to see there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody want more?

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it is short. Love it? Hate it? Questions? You WILL leave a comment *spooky Jedi mind trick*.


End file.
